


Dipsy Doodles

by Toryb



Series: Camp Bughead 2018 [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Angst, Camp Bughead, Cartoonist!Jughead, F/M, Fluff, It spans across them, Pregnancy, this is just so much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 09:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: The Year is 1923.Jughead met Betty on the streets of New York City, when she reached inside her father’s deep pockets and pulled out a single silver coin, placing it in his tiny hands. It was the first time anyone had ever ignored the dirt on his face and the way his overalls were far too big for his body. He was just nine years old and had never seen anything more lovely than her dimpled smile. Just as he was about to thank her for her gratitude, her mother--in pristine white gloves--snatched her hand away, muddling something about street urchins that couldn’t hurt his feelings anymore, not after all the times he’d already heard it.





	Dipsy Doodles

**Author's Note:**

> Day 10 of buggie break! Hope you guys enjoy a little 20s and 30s action!! This is largely based off of the fact that in the comics, Jughead created art/paintings that would often come to life. So I just went with that!

1923

Jughead met Betty on the streets of New York City, when she reached inside her father’s deep pockets and pulled out a single silver coin, placing it in his tiny hands. It was the first time anyone had ever ignored the dirt on his face and the way his overalls were far too big for his body. He was just nine years old and had never seen anything more lovely than her dimpled smile. Just as he was about to thank her for her gratitude, her mother--in pristine white gloves--snatched her hand away, muddling something about street urchins that couldn’t hurt his feelings anymore, not after all the times he’d already heard it.

 

The streets had been his home since he was seven years old. His father, Sergeant Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Second, had died in the last year of the Great War. The first time Jughead ever saw his father was in his casket, at his funeral, while people told the four year old boy that his father died a hero, a valiant man, and he looked just like him. Looking just like him was the first in a long string of unfortunate events for him. His young mother could hardly handle the stress of a son that reminded her so much of her late husband, and spiraled until she found herself in an asylum. Jughead was given to an eccentric uncle, an inventor, who died in an electrical accident two years after a somewhat blissful life together, filled with toys and visitations to his mother, who almost seemed to be getting better. After the news of her husband, that health took another turn.

 

In fear of what what to come, the little boy packed a bundle of his things and ran as far as he could, until he found himself padding down the unforgiving pavement. A gentle kids face could get him far for awhile, but as his age ticked forward, he could feel pockets lighter and the hand outs fewer and far between. There wasn’t much work for him either. Young girls worked in the factories and--unless he wanted to work in the coal mines--the only thing left for him was the paper. So to the paper he went.

 

1926

The second time he met Betty was when he was twelve, waving the newest headlines in front of anyone who would listen. Immediately, he recognized her sunny features and gentle smile as she stepped out of the dressmaker's shop. Jughead felt the knots tangle in the pit of his stomach. She looked on him with a vague remembrance before reaching into her coin purse and pulling out a few coins. “Give me three? If I don’t buy one for my parent’s they’re be furious.”

 

Words stuck in his throat, he nodded, handing over the small stack and slipping the coins back into his pocket. “Thank you, Miss.”

 

“Betty,” She said softly. “It’s Betty. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I think we’ve met before. I didn’t get your name though.”

 

“Jughead. My name’s Jughead.”

 

She giggled. “Well. It’s a pleasure to meet you Jughead.”

 

1930

He saw Betty a lot more after that. Despite her parent’s protests--claiming this boy would rot her soul from the inside out--she would slide down her latter and they would run into the woods nearly every night together, leaving her shoes shredded and her silken nightgowns dirty. When they were sixteen, Jughead asked her to marry him.

 

They were sitting out under the night sky, sketching along the paper she had placed in front of him. It was a passion that was originally explored on torn sheets of news clippings and pencils he could steal from local bars. He would make little characters and have them go on fanciful journeys he could never imagine. Occasionally, he would sneak into the movies and watch the animated shorts. Perhaps one day, he’d be able to watch his work come to life.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“You’ll see. Don’t be nosy.”

 

Jughead worked quickly until his work was finished. He flipped through the pages, a small story coming to life before her. A woman walked across the street to a little man, who kneeled down and opened a small box before her. Her expressions changed to shock, awe, and then happiness. The story ended with a single question. Would you marry me. He heard her gasp beside him.

 

“We’re still so young Juggie,” she gripped his hand tightly, her nerves shaking them both. “Besides, what would we do? You don’t have any money and my parents would be absolutely furious.” And then her eyes glittered with the moon. “I think we should.”

 

“Then we will.

 

That night they tumbled together under the stars, lost in pure adoration for one another. When the sun rose and they were forced to part, it was not under the same feeling of moroseness that often accompanied the mornings, but instead newfound excitement and joy.

 

1932

Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third and Elizabeth Ann Cooper were married in late April a few days after her eighteenth birthday. Neither of their parents were present for the matrimony. In the dead of night, she packed up her things and joined him in the little apartment he had scrounge up the money to buy. It was in one of the worst parts of town, with late nights overhearing their neighbors more devious sexual exploits, but it was theirs. Betty quickly decorated it in warmth, love, and passion until it felt like it was always supposed to.

 

The jobs he worked were few and far between. No one would keep him on for very long without many skills and his time as a newspaper boy were far gone into a distant past. He still tore up the pages to sketch his cartoons on and the dream of doing something more with his talent never quite left his heart, especially with his wife rallying from the sidelines.

 

“Submit them,” she urged one night, kissing along his jawline, their legs tangled in the worn linens of the bed and bodies pressed against one another. “Please.”

 

“It’s not worth it. They aren’t worth anything.” Her protests died between kisses as they fell into one another again.

 

Spring 1933

“Elizabeth sit still,” Jughead laughed and picked up his eraser, tossing it at his squirming model.

 

She pouted, but ceased her movements. Sometimes it was hard to keep still when it was for such long hours at a time. Her bache was aching and her vision had gone blurry staring at nothing but the open window and the fluttering curtains.

 

“I’m sorry. Why do I have to stay still for so long?”

 

“If you move too much, it won’t be perfect.”

 

She frowned. “Does it have to be?”

 

The silence did not comfort her worries, but the smile he gave her did. “For you? I’d like it to be.”

 

It felt raw to be sketched, like she had opened herself up to him in such a deep way. In some ways, it was more intimate than their--seemingly endless--love making, because he allowed himself to indulge in some of his greatest pleasures with her.

 

Summer 1933

He received his first acceptance letter and cash sum in an white envelope from a company he’d never remembered working for. When Jughead presented the evidence to his wife, all she had in her defense was a sheepish smile and a laugh. “I told you they were worth something.”

 

Like nearly everything with Betty, that moment was the start of something beautiful. She worked day in and day out by his side. Without her, his passion, his heart, his work would have died on the table most nights, as he sat exhausted from the hard hours at the lumber mill that paid their bills. Her fingers were blistered from her busy sewing--clothing, mending, little things she did for neighbors that helped keep them afloat when hours at his work were cut. His first submissions approval had been a fluke in his eyes, and the ones that came after were never as generous.

 

“Why is no one doing more with animation?” He asked one night, frustrated.

 

Betty looked up from her needle and frowned. It wasn’t uncommon for him to go into these fits of confusion and unhappiness; the best she could provide to him was loving comfort. She moved to sit beside him and kissed him.

 

“Well then, why don’t you?”

 

1937

There was, without any doubt in his mind, nothing greater than running up the steps and into her arms, taking care of her swollen stomach, and showing to her the contract. He had a job with a company wanting to make longer animation films. Little Rose squirmed in her mother’s grasp, upset to be squished between her two parents. The four year old screamed until they separated.

 

Unable to keep his excitement at bay, Jughead picked up his little one and spun her around. “We’ll be going somewhere better soon.” He promised. “And I’ll buy you the dance shoes you always wanted.”

 

She gasped and kissed his cheek. “The one with the satin ties.”

 

“The very best they make.”

 

That night, Betty cried until her chest hurt and her stomach ached, overcome with nothing but happiness and pride for the man she loved. Someone had seen the potential in him she always had and offered to help him do something with it.

 

1938

They bought a house across the street from her parent’s with the money. It was petty and silly, but with two screaming children and a third already stretching at her dresses, it was important to find the space. Every morning she felt their gaze on her in the garden and every day she turned away like they had from her. When Jughead came home every night, with a smile and a kiss, she knew the loveliness of contentment.

 

“Do you promise me we’ll always be this happy?” he asked one night. The question perforated the silence and his wife turned to stare at him.

 

Betty laughed and shook her head. “No. I think we’ll be even happier.”

 

For a boy that had spent so long as a street urchin, it felt surreal to have such a golden light in his life. No longer was he empty without love or passion. He had found it all with her. So he kissed her one last time goodnight.

 

1939

The radio crackled on and news of the war poured from the speakers, rattling them both to the core. Jughead looked towards his wife as fear settled in his stomach. She clung to his side and weeped.

**Author's Note:**

> Please take all your complaints about the sad ending to Sarah @theheavycrown, Ana @buggiekinsx, and Ana @juxtaposedmusings for saying they wanted more sad/angst ending in fics. Thank you and I'm sorry.


End file.
